There are those who adore whodunits, and those who would rather be beaten about by lead piping than endure them. As this Agatha Christie tribute shows, Adair is of the former camp. Published on the eightieth anniversary of Christie’s ‘The Murder of Roger Ackroyd’, his novel recreates a familiar set-up: Boxing Day circa 1935, and a group of well-heeled guests are gathered at the country mansion of Colonel Roger ffolkes (yes, ‘ff’). One of the guests is found murdered – but luckily, bestselling crime novelist Evadne Mount is among the party, and proceeds to solve the murder.
Murder mysteries have been so successfully transposed to film and television that Adair’s book seems already written for the screen (and must surely be lined up for adaptation), while Mount is two parts Christie to one part Jessica Fletcher.
Christie herself is mentioned as Evadne Mount’s great rival. Mount’s play ‘The Wrong Voice’ is ‘in its fourth triumphant year in the West End as we speak – beat that, Agatha Christie!’ There are other knowing references: the parents of a character named Donald Duckworth, Adair quips, weren’t to know that his name would make him the butt of jokes when they christened him in 1915. The plot, meanwhile, sticks to the conventions of the genre. As long as you’re not of the lead-piping persuasion, this is a lighthearted little treat.
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If like me you are a lifelong fan of Agatha Christie then anything written in similar genre will delight. A parody of her works is similarly forgiven. I tittered from start to finish, even forgave the unlikely ending. I finished the book with the same sense of finishing off a cream cake. Delightful indulgence!